


Sex

by Tentabot (orphan_account)



Series: (Don't) Touch Me [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Poetry, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tentabot
Summary: My sex is a microphone and my body is a podium...A poem with one line referenced in the original story,'Again'.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Made this up on the fly for my vent series since a line used was one I also used in ['Again'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10614897) and I liked it.  
> Disclaimer: I don't care about my vent series enough to make heavy edits or clarify shit since it's heavily based on experiences I've had in the past. If you have critical notes as a poet to a kinda-poet, sweet, but I honestly don't want them because I wasn't writing this for the literary aspect. I wrote it because I wanted it out of my system.
> 
> Anyway, stay safe.

 

Sex: sometimes a reproductive necessity.

Sex: sometimes a recreational activity.

Sex: sometimes an object biologically engineered to facilitate either performance.

Sex is something I can have but cannot own  
Between the feathers-embrace of the sheets between us   
Or the sensual weight of our passions   
Our intimacy isn’t shackled by the cages of convention   
We have sex and we love it   
Breaths intermingled   
Bodies moving selfishly   
I moan God’s name because I am transported to heaven as my core is touched  
A height reached as other things do   
Breathing heavily again   
What soak the sheets are my tears and my prayers

I asked for this and I say so

Consciousness poisoned  
Somehow it’s the fault of the one who died to it  
Under its influence I’m taken apart  
Piece by piece  
The audience is captivated by the beauty of brokenness  
But this film is silent so they can’t hear the screams that echo in the dark

Flinching at shadows larger than I  
Or a voice raised  
Or a hand  
My soul remembers what my body does not  
No longer can it ascend  
No longer can it meet the whites of stars that shoot fire into my veins

Sex is something I do have yet still do not own  
Naked bodies twisted into distorted imagery  
An assumption of what it means to embody sex  
My own is centerstage  
My sex is a microphone and my body is a podium  
Grip my body tight and speak   
God has seen these legs spread and heard my blasphemous cries  
You have a problem for what I can control and continue to judge what I cannot  
My legs have been pried apart  
No longer mine  
Microphone ripped from podium  
Myself ripped from my body

Sex is an action and reaction  
What stains my sheets and myself I use as cover  
Red in my cheeks and white on them  
I ask for the bruises because they can hide the scars I received against my will  
When did I ever utter appraisal while my body was being razed  
Devoured by man and his sense of entitlement 

Microphone, dropped

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Orphaning to detach this from my main AO3 account. If you'd like to view the related fics you can find them on my NSFW blog: [brandnameboy](http://brandnameboy.tumblr.com). Sorry for the inconvenience. Continue to stay safe. Adieu.


End file.
